


Remembering Touch

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Casifer Week 2014, Consensual Sex, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1428079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is all light, frostbitten skin and loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering Touch

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** I have never written an A/B/O fic so...do be kind. I read up a bit, got some advice and I wanted to keep that A/B/O dynamics but still not stray away from the characters' personality and the fact they're angels, not human. Not lose their personalities to typified A/B/O tropes. So wala!
> 
>  **Prompt:** Casifer A/B/O
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of services. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Castiel always found it baffling, if not amusing when one thinks of the construction of language and meanings, the term ‘in the belly of the beast.’ What exactly does it feel like to be in the belly of the beast? Possibly acidic, if one takes into account the numerous of acids in ones system to break down food into components easy and understandable for the body to function with. A sort of breaking down until one is reduced to a more basic and simple of forms. Castiel feels he is in the belly of the beast, broken down until he feels one-dimensional in comparison to the multidimensional being before him. Lucifer is comprehensible and yet incomprehensible all at once. Understandable and yet terrifyingly an enigma wrapped up within an enigma. Lucifer is all light, frostbitten skin and loss. 

The young angel wonders if this is what God is like, the thought blasphemous as it scrapes across Jimmy’s prefrontal cortex. Castiel wonders if it makes him more attracted to the rebellious angel. 

Lucifer is different than the other alphas. While Michael is visibly domineering and throws his strength with his clipped words, Lucifer carries a silent form of control. His words are low and eloquent, temper basted by an icy spread that can be viewed as indifference or quiet humor. He’s not all sharp teeth and carnal snarls when his hunger curls around his throat. The alpha will only approach him with his nose pushed into the hollow of his neck and drinking in his scent, fingers memorizing and possessive until Castiel becomes loose and lax against the attention. Lucifer just wants to be close. As if it’s been so long since he’s been in the company of another who wants to receive his touch and all he can do is cradle it. Keep it close for just a moment longer. Afraid if he pushes too hard that it might all leave him. The younger angel knows the angel holds himself back. Can see it in the tendon pushing against Lucifer’s cheek, the tightness in his back and the ever so often sound of teeth grinding against each other.

When he broaches on the topic — inquires why Lucifer would wall himself off from something only natural does he taste Lucifer’s frost. At first the archangel would respond by letting his teeth bite lightly at the hollow of Castiel’s throat, in a symbol for the young angel to become aware of his status. That never seems to stop the curious angel and one day Lucifer’s teeth sunk deep into flesh. Sunk deep into his throat until it caused Cas’ vessel to wince and hiss at the pain, tilting his head back to expose his neck further in understood submission. 

“You will not bring this up again,” Lucifer orders and Castiel’s being bends to the reverberation and vibrations of the command. He never mentions it again. The enigma wraps himself deeper within itself and Castiel is left with only more questions than before. 

The world was simpler when it was strictly Heaven against Hell. But his first meeting with Lucifer left him caught in a daze. The archangel didn’t seek him out for his status, but more out of curiosity. A sort of prodding into his cranium, and it terrified the angel how taken in he was by Lucifer’s ideology and masterful way with language. He felt as if he was being recruited by a beautifully composed symphony of thoughts. Cas could feel his skin strangely becoming warm about his neck and the inside of his palms when he realized he was being presented with compliments. One of the oldest beings in the Universe, the revered Morning Star, tipped his hat to him. It’s…outlandish. In the consideration of all of Heaven’s military power and population, he was nothing but a means to an end. It was not highly sought upon to be sent to Earth — a destitute planet and former shade of its lively beauty — but the angel is an omega and still young in comparison to his older brothers and sisters. His options are greatly limited and he can only move so high up the ranks until he hits the glass ceiling. Yet there Lucifer was, with the slight twist of his lips and paying him a compliment. 

Castiel calculates that it is due to the close proximity of the holy oil that is causing his vessel’s skin to rise in temperature. Lucifer laughs lightly under his breath, brief and fleeting, letting his fingers hover over the flames as if happy to amuse Castiel for the moment. 

Lucifer smells like winter. He smells like fallen pine needles. The brittleness of a wind’s howl. Wet earth and bark. Frozen atmosphere. At times it can be overbearing, as if the entirety of Lucifer’s presence is overwhelming and too much. Then there are moments, when there is a growing heat and empty yawn beginning to crawl up his spine where Lucifer is absolutely heavenly. It’s as if a fever has broken out across his body, perhaps frying his functioning because he can’t help but seek out the archangel. It’s so starkly different in Heaven. Where it’s nothing but the passing through and curl of Grace, fires of Creation chaotically blinding and seeking reprieve from itself, essentially, its genetic roots. It’s lauded after. Praised. Hoped for. A religious experience. 

You are meant to bond with your garrison — your pack — your family of kindred Grace and stardust. Here on Earth there are the barriers of flesh and Castiel’s garrison is so far away and Lucifer is unattached. Demons are nothing but dark-eyed followers staring up at him like a God, more fanatics than equal counterparts. It’s unnerving to have spent the majority of his life patiently waiting for a connection, a mutual desire to be close to his garrison, and Heaven’s infamous outcast answers back. Answers back with a winter’s howl and a cold truth: only I can understand your questioning and doubt.

Lucifer doesn’t overpower him or showcase his physical prowess like Castiel has seen his superiors do. Icy fingers are a balm against his flushed skin when he feels his Grace might just burst out of his vessel, accompanied with a deep gut hunger that nearly makes him crawl out of his skin when Lucifer’s fingers are absent. Hesitance and fear of the dangerous alpha situated before him, however, keeps him from succumbing into baseless and thoughtless touches. It stops him from pushing his Grace greedily in the direction of Lucifer’s. Lucifer leads. Always leads as he patiently explores every inch of the younger angel’s body, nicking his body with bite marks in a possessive claim. 

Whenever he feels that insistent need to suddenly breathe, forgetting himself as the thrum of…well, Castiel is not sure what to call this. As the thrum of want overtakes? But it sounds bizarre when one considers Heaven. To want was nothing but steps from greed, or rather synonymous to the term. A term that doesn’t quite fit with the image of rulings of Heaven. Castiel can’t decide what the proper term would be other than a compelling urge to act upon the circulating heat. To be closer to the alpha who is smiling into his shaking limbs. When the shaking becomes too much and his fingers begin to fist into Lucifer’s blond locks, does the archangel rumble out commands. 

“You will wait until I say so.” 

The younger angel thinks he may have whined at the request. A mortified look instantly rising onto his features at the realization, but Lucifer does nothing but kiss his navel in affection. Lucifer is pleased by the sound. The shame dies into that familiar curiosity, temporally distracting Castiel from that hungering desire that makes his skin flushed and carrying a faint sheen of sweat. He lets himself react, if not physically, vocally. Lucifer answers with hums of his own, the Angel of Music responding and radiating approval. 

Castiel wants to touch, but Lucifer has a habit of needing to touch first. He must mark and claim every inch of the angel until there is a litany of possession across his pinked skin. They haven’t reached a point within their relationship where Castiel can freely touch Lucifer. They are not bonded. Their Graces have yet to solidify the bond. There certainly is a stream of connection between them both but Castiel can feel bruises. Frayed nerves like split power lines, spitting out electrical sparks whenever Castiel digs too deep into it. When he gets too close, when Grace seeks out just a bit further, is he brutally kicked back by the archangel’s Grace. He’s instantly walled off and Lucifer will disappear in a flurry of sound. The young angel wonders if Lucifer is capable of truly bonding to another. The archangel feels like an open wound that refuses to heal. All Castiel can do is prevent the festering of bacteria with his presence. He’s not sure if anyone can repair and bind the archangel back together. It was difficult pulling Dean out of Hell, Hell threatening to burn his wings the longer he remained. He’s not sure how the Cage must have fared along with being in perpetual silence and isolation for so long. 

When Lucifer is finally content with his artwork on Castiel’s skin, he’ll nod his assent and the angel can finally move closer. The archangel is a content feline, feeling sloppy kisses against his shoulder and hips rutting insistently against him. Hooded blue eyes watch Castiel always fumble and attempt to skillfully maneuver himself to achieve relief, the human body still alien to the angel despite having watched humans for so long. To view Mankind and act in a human vessel is not as easy as it looks. Lucifer allows Castiel to clumsily remove his clothes, Jimmy’s pen-calloused fingers trying to stroke half-hard flesh. The omega knows that if he accompanies each inexperienced stroke with praise, physical or verbal, he’ll be granted sweet little noises from the archangel that are caught and swallowed inside his gullet. Lucifer always responds with his appreciation, chilled mouth meeting his and large hands pulling him further onto his lap. 

Cool hands slide over Castiel’s, showing him once more what to do, quietly teaching him to the soundtrack of Castiel’s hitched breathing. He can’t help it. Can’t help breathing. Can’t help refilling his lungs as if he needs to breathe. Lucifer doesn’t mind. He’s a patient teacher despite the low rumbling sounds trapped within the archangel’s chest and the antsy flares of colors slipping over the archangel’s Grace. When Castiel mimics Lucifer’s movements, then does the archangel respond with his own. Fingers crawling down the small of Castiel’s back and to the curve of his backside. Forcing the angel to lift his body slightly up so fingers can push the smeared slick and sweat against the curve. Castiel gives an insistent noise when fingers begin to tease him open. Slow and easy circles across the rim before nudging just a bit deeper, not enough to take the tip of the blond’s fingers but enough where the angel is shocked with pleasure. 

He feels so sensitive. Sensitive to the scrape of Lucifer’s stubble against his neck to how warm his own cock feels against his lower abdomen. Lucifer’s fingers only leave trails of pleasant heat and electricity. Castiel rises just a bit further, trying to encourage the alpha’s digits to slide just a bit deeper but the archangel’s spare hand moves to keep him put. There is never a rush. The archangel takes pride in his patience, the way he can work Castiel open until he’s nothing but a litany of whimpers and broken Enochian. All the angel can do is bury his nose in Lucifer’s head and greedily take in the alpha’s scent. He can already feel precum slide across the head of his flushed cock in broken beads, the archangel finally pushing a digit in with ease, curling until Castiel shudders and keens against him. 

Castiel knows he can quicken the process. He can tell Lucifer how beautiful he is. Tell Lucifer that he is loved. He is special. He is intelligent. He is everything he needs. It’s an indulgent form of coercion, Castiel learning that praise will weaken Lucifer’s patience. The feverish tactician feeds it to Lucifer to see if he will take, and the archangel takes rather instantly. Lips are pressing kisses into his neck, hands moving and adjusting until Lucifer is pushing in, bringing Castiel’s frame down. Castiel groans in relief and his success, rutting and trying to meet each thrust, arms wrapped around Lucifer’s neck. 

For all the intimacy that is to be found in these moments, nothing compares to the moment where the two are forced to remain put in their post-coital high. There’s a feeling of fullness that pleases and interests the young angel, thighs scalding hot against Lucifer’s, now, lukewarm body. Lucifer is the most receptive in these exhausting moments, arms loose and wrapped around Castiel’s waist, nuzzling into the side of the angel’s neck. He murmurs to the angel in Enochian, always speaking of nonsensical topics ranging from astronomy to botany. In these moments, his touch is personal and reflective, as if trying to memorize what it feels like to have someone so close.    


When the moment quietly passes, Lucifer sighs and gently slides out, recomposing himself into a walking enigma.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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